


A Moment Between

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little gen fic covering the day after a hard hunt. The simple things the boys do to recover, catch up, and refuel in between cases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment Between

The first thought that formed in his mind after the sleepiness had just barely subsided was Sam. Before even opening his eyes to blink in the cool morning light he listened for the steady breath of his brother in the cheap motel bed beside his. He was awarded by the sound of shuffling under scratchy, starched sheets and relaxed slightly. Sam was safe, alive, moving. The second thought that he could form was less of a thought and more a dull pain, running from under his left rib to the top of his hip bone. As he lifted a hand to gently prod the area, he noticed a vague soreness in his wrist that suggested bruising. When his fingertips touched the cold skin on his side he was unsurprised to feel a neat row of stitches, maybe seven in all. 'Thanks baby brother,' he thought listlessly, not quite remembering how that got there, but knowing full well he couldn’t have done it himself. Careful not to jostle that side too much he slowly sat, feeling the weight of each muscle, sore and strained, that finally drew up memories of the previous day. His mind wandered into yesterday as he grabbed the bottle of whisky, taking a long pull and praying it would make a little of the soreness subside.

It was a wraith. A few days ago they rolled into town with word of 3 dead, all of them working in the same office building, all of them with puncture wounds on their necks. Sam and Dean had originally thought vampires, until they saw the latest corpse and recognized the familiar single puncture on the back of the victim’s neck, close to the base of the skull. To confirm, Sam had the honor of sawing into the victim’s skull to locate the brain, a small hard stone that was sucked dry.

After they knew it was a wraith, they spent some time in the office building, Sam as the new janitor, and Dean as a gas inspector.

It took time to make Dean’s badge, which meant a trip to kinkos and Sam fiddling with the plastic on the ID to make it look real, a skill he learned a long time ago. It didn’t take Sam long to get a job as the new janitor, as the previous one had been killed by the wraith and he told the manager he could start immediately.

Once they were both secure in their positions in the building for the day, they began the slow process of weeding people out. They both carried small make-up mirrors purchased at the drug store and used them to look for the wraith. In a mirror, wraiths couldn’t hide their hideous visage; the brothers knew this from previous encounters with the creatures. While Sam pretended to clean toilets and “get lost” in offices throughout the day, he got lucky. Which was really something for the brothers. He noticed that one of the managers on the second floor had his own private bathroom—with no mirrors. Right away he was suspicious, and they managed to identify him as the monster within a few hours. Dean proceeded to follow the suspect for the rest of the day, and ended up in the man’s home that night, equipped with several silver knives.

Unfortunately, the wraith knew it was being followed and managed to get the jump on Dean, and after a brief skirmish, it sent him tumbling down the stairs into the basement of the house. Dean didn’t lose consciousness, but found himself unable to fight as the creature bound his wrists behind him, wrapped around one of the wooden posts in the dark room. A wraith’s touch made its victim start to go a bit mad, and even though Dean knew this, he still felt the nervous dizziness that came with the sudden unsureness of his own perceptions. The creature knew he had a partner, so the two waited for Sam to come to the rescue, while Dean, in true form, made snarky comments to the creature. The ropes around his wrists were tight, but he was a pro at Houdini-ing out of these situations and managed to find a loose nail on one of the floor boards to start scraping the rope against. It hurt, but as long as he could keep the monster distracted, it was only a matter of time before he was free. He got distracted several times by his senses, which weren’t functioning properly. By the time Sam showed up he was more than halfway through the ropes and he struggled harder as the wraith started to fight his brother. Sam was big, and a good fighter, but he was no match for the wraith’s hallucinatory touch, and soon he was on the ground as the creature extended the large spike from his wrist, ready to suck him dry. Dean managed to get free just in time to plunge one of the silver knives through the creatures chest.

The morning light from the dingy window shifted into his eyes, pulling him away from the memory. As he rubbed the grit from them he noticed purplish red bruises wrapped jaggedly around each wrist, and made a mental note to wear Sam’s hoodie for the next few days—the one that was slightly too big and covered each hand to easily hide his wrists in public. He could still hear the gentle, slight snore of his brother when he rose gingerly and made his way to the cramped bathroom. He vaguely took into account the time, 8:30am, and was proud to have slept for more than the usual 4 hours. He had been bone tired from the hunt and consciousness left him as soon as the final stitches went in during the previous night. Washing up had obviously been less of a priority than sleep at the time, so he was unsurprised at the grime on his face and dust in his hair when he looked into the mirror.

He fiddled with the shower knobs until the temperature was right and waited for the yellowish water to run clear before pulling back the shower curtain. As per ritual, he surveyed the damage to his body in the mirror, before stepping into the steaming water. Other than the previously discovered cut with 7 tidy stitches and discolored wrists, he also found bruised elbows, a nasty contusion on his left shoulder that would probably take days to heal, a split lip, and a puncture wound in his upper right shoulder where the wraith had missed. Not too shabby, came a hazy thought, and then more clearly- _how fucked up is our lives when “not too shabby” is stitches, bruises and blood_. The thought was dangerous, he knew it, and pushed it aside with what little determination he could muster.

He let the hot water clean him of the dirt and blood and made a mental note of what needed to be done today. The days after the hunt were tedious and boring. With the adrenaline washed away, the hurts and pains came back with a vengeance and small responsibilities that reminded him of the life he could only secretly wish for was almost painful. During a hunt, while researching, or waiting for night to fall, wayside things like finding some cash, doing laundry, or shopping for supplies were just part of the job. But between hunts they seemed like burdens. Killing things, solving puzzles, keeping people safe; all those were things he was good at, things he thrived at doing. But when he was this sore, emotionally raw and hurting, he couldn’t seem to make errands into something that seemed important. And even worse, they reminded him of the short year where those things were the norm. The quiet non-hurting mornings, fresh smell of laundry, bright lights at the grocery store with Lisa on his arm. Again he pushed the thought away.

When he got out of the bathroom Sam was already awake, sporting a shiner on his left eye and slightly favoring his left leg. He was pulling the cheap paper cups out of their plastic wrappers while the room filled with the smell of fresh coffee. Dean didn’t know anything could smell so good. He did a quick inventory of Sam while his little brother was busy pouring them both a cup and noticed that he must have showered before sleeping last night. His hair had that particular rumple that comes with falling asleep with a wet head and he looked much cleaner than Dean did when he awoke. Plus the lack of blood and fresh clothes.

“How are you feeling?” came the quick question, much perkier than Dean could have anticipated.

“Like I got hit by a truck,” was the familiar reply, even though he managed a half smile while he said it. Sam continued in quiet voice, which came natural for the sleepy morning.

“We need to hit the Laundromat today, and stock up on some new clothes, I think we both had a shirt ruined last night and that means I am down to two. Plus we need to fill the first aid kit and we are running low on cash. The new credit cards still haven’t come yet. I think I have about $65. How much do you have left?” D sighed and grabbed his bag and rummaged through for his wallet; it felt worryingly light.

“Forty bucks and change.” He said with a frown and wondered where they would have to sleep that night if he couldn’t find a bar to hustle pool, or some other nefarious means of gaining quick funds.

Sam seemed to read his mind, “No worries we can make it last, I talked to a real estate agent last night at the bar. He was drunkenly complaining how he can’t find a buyer for a house at the end of Lake Street. I looked up the property this morning already,” he spun his laptop around so Dean could see the listing. “Looks like a pretty rundown place, definitely won’t have any type of alarm system. I figure we can break in there for tonight and maybe tomorrow if we are careful. That way we wont have to sleep in the car again.” Dean felt relieved while sipping the hot coffee, Sam was always more of a planner than he was, and on this morning he was particularly grateful. By the time they checked out, did all their errands of the day and foundd a bar tonight, it would be late enough to swing by the house, and with the small population of the town, he felt confident they could avoid the 2 or 3 police officers roaming the streets. It wouldn’t be comfortable, most places on the market for so long had nothing to them but hard floors and a draft, but it was better than freezing the February night away in the car.

Dean grabbed the whisky from the bedside table and poured a generous amount into his coffee cup, groaning as he sat down. Sam pulled the bloodied clothing that had been discarded on the floor hastily the night before and inspected them carefully, only finding one shirt he thought he could save and wrapping the rest in a plastic bag to be burned later in the week. He took the salvageable shirt and went to the sink, stooping to grab the peroxide from the open first aid kit.

“Let’s grab some breakfast at the diner we saw coming in, I can’t remember the last time we ate and _that_ can’t be good for your stomach.” He said while gesturing toward Dean’s liquor laced coffee, he turned to the small sink. He unwrapped the complimentary toothbrush and poured the peroxide onto the shirt scrubbing gently at the small blood stain on the collar. Dean’s stomach growled when he thought of something more substantial in his stomach, and just the mental imagery of a diner burger or eggs made him perk up a bit.

“I can be packed in 10.”

After some real food, a full English style breakfast for Dean and whole wheat pancakes with fruit for Sam, they took the Impala down the main road in town and stopped in front of the coin laundry. The ride wasn’t quick enough to warm the old machine up and even though the engine quietly clicked its cool down, the boy’s fingers were stiff with cold as they grabbed their bags from the trunk. Dean took Sam’s bag from his hand, grunting and gesturing his head toward the younger sibling’s leg. Trying to convey his thoughts _your bum leg, I’ll carry it for you_ , all in one smooth motion.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed slightly but he said nothing, he had long ago gotten used to his brother looking out for him, protecting him, saving him from hurt. It was evident when they hunted--when Dean would make smart-ass comments to gain the brunt of an enemy’s beating, or when he would cover Sam’s body with his own when things were raining down on them. But Sam noticed it more often as well, in these small interactions, like the way Dean would always take the bed closest to the door, or now when he carried both bags, despite the wound in his side. Sam could be frustrated about it, and sometimes he was, he was not some wounded bird that always needed to be cared for; but for the most part he felt safe, protected, loved. The brothers so rarely used the word that Sam chose to hear it in his Dean’s small actions.

Sam dumped the clothing in one big _whoof_ into the biggest washer the place had, and Dean handed him the quarters. They both exchanged a small nod at the security camera by the door and dismissed the idea of picking the washer’s simple lock to grab some spare change; something they had a habit of doing when funds were low. Dean dumped the small box of soap into the machine and it started with slow trickle of water.

“Want a coffee from next door?” Sam asked, “Going to ask if they have wifi we can reach from here.” Dean nodded, slowly lifting himself to sit on a washer and picking up a newspaper, trying not to think of the throbbing pain in his side. Neither of the boys were much for pain killers, even the over counter ones. Dulling the pain meant you didn’t know it was there, didn’t know if it was healing, and they always needed to be 100% aware of what was going on with their bodies. Plus, adrenaline always kept the pain away at the worst of times.

The newspaper was from 3 days ago, featuring the same story about the three dead office workers that sent them to this tiny town to begin with. He felt a small pang of regret that he couldn’t have come earlier, saved those people from dying bloody. Instead of wallowing he flipped to the sports section and caught himself up on the recent games.

Sam came back with 2 black coffees and a small slip of paper, presumably the password to the wifi next door. He set both down on the washer next to Dean and slouched back on the orange plastic chairs that so often are featured in these small-town Laundromats. Lifting up his pant leg, he slowly re-wrapped his injured knee while he spoke, not complaining once.

“Barista said there was a used clothing shop in the next town over, about 30 miles down the road, and an Army Surplus store a couple miles behind the motel. Let’s hit both, then the pharmacy on the way back.”

Dean did a quick mental check, “I can make a list of supplies we need for the first aid kit, let’s not forget dressings, we used up the last of them already.” Sam finished wrapping his knee and pulled the laptop onto his lap, first checking for directions and then making the usual rounds on sites where strange news can be found. He went on autopilot, looking for signs of a case in the midst of weird articles about ghosts, vampires, and werewolves. It took an expert to sift the fakes from an actual case and even now they sometimes traveled to a new town only to be met with the friendly neighborhood hoax.

Sam just about found something promising when his brother shifted, clearly wincing at the pain in his side while he sat on the washing machine. Sam closed the laptop, figuring he could give them another 24 hours to recover before heading back out. His knee would most likely be sore for a few more days, but by morning he expected most of the pain to go away. Dean however was in worse shape, the cut on his side had required more stitches than expected and it would take at least a few days of rest to start healing properly. And even though he wore Sam’s too big hoodie, Sam still caught a glimpse of his wrists this morning during breakfast; they must have hurt like hell. Better keep a weapon out of his brother hands for the next few days, if he could.


End file.
